


Endure the Burning

by norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: GFY, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, passing mention of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9648356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Captain Rex and General Kenobi both knew any interest they might have for the other was an impossibility. Then they discover that they are not just an impossibility, but something akin to a fairy tale.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I ran across some [gorgeous art](http://norcumi.tumblr.com/post/156988519924/nirvanasoul785-by-%E5%8D%81%E5%88%86%E4%B9%8B%E4%B8%80) on Tumblr, and that ended up sinking in as something I _had_ to write. I personally find this trend of comfort ficcing Obi/Rex soulmark things to be quite odd.
> 
> Many thanks for assistance must go to: Theotherguysride, Pumpkin-lith, and Dogmatix. Y'all had great patience and much encouragement that got me through the rougher spots. 
> 
> Also many, many thanks to the lovely Tumblr folks who rebageled and/or commented, because I suspect the expressed interest helped this thing into such swift being. <3 Y'all are AWESOME.

  **"What is to give light must endure the burning." --** _Eleanor Roosevelt_

* * *

 

None of their trainers had mentioned _anything_ about it. None of the men had, either – sure, this ridiculous fairy tale says it’s a rare phenomenon, but there’s literally millions of brothers, and the odds that there’s not even a set of soulmates there would be absurd.

Sure, Rex has to acknowledge that if he’d seen any sign of _glowing_ he wouldn’t say anything.

But nothing, from not one single brother? Nah, just a myth.

Pervasive myth, but it couldn’t be real. For that matter, the way it’s supposed to only be visible to the soulmates themselves is just ludicrous. Great excuse, possibly makes for fun games with body paint, but –

Rex thinks this whole myth is ridiculous. Soulmates. Beings who match each other, fit together as interlocking pieces. Friends, foes; partners, antagonists; somehow _completing_ each other – it all rings too much of predestination for him. Something that _must_ be.

Fuck that. He and his brothers were created for war, for the Jedi, to die for the Republic. That’s more than enough predestination for Rex.

He notes the little things that people do because myth or not, culture is weird. A lot of people wear gloves. You just don’t touch people uninvited (barring, of course, those awkward moments of “get the kriff _down_ ” with idiotic civilians). People ask if tattoos have... _special_ meaning.

That one had taken ridiculously long to decipher.

That’s not to say that Rex thinks the idea of soulmates is entirely bad. Just –

In his imagination, it has to look odd. Blinding. He grew up on Kamino: sunlight was damn rare, and it wasn’t like they went outside often. Light meant the ever-present, bright white glow that could get painful when you hadn’t had enough sleep. He can’t really imagine that being a _good_ sign. Touching someone, skin to skin, and if they’re soulmates they glow. Holos show it as bright paint, with the obligatory shot from “not a soulmate’s” view where it’s the same thing, but without the bright streaks of colors. Sometimes they’ll think they’re clever and apply infrared filters, but not a single brother does anything but hoot criticism of how _wrong_ that ends up looking. It’s too damn jarring, too bizarre for even the most romantic person to get caught up in the emotion instead.

So beyond the occasional awful holo, Rex hasn’t put much thought into it. A lot less thought than he’s put into figuring out any number of other social conventions and quirks and interactions, that’s for damn sure.

He certainly wasn’t thinking about it when the building collapsed on him and General Kenobi. They’d been on one side of a room, while a mixed group of soldiers and Commander Tano had been at the other, near what had once been spacious windows. General Skywalker had been outside, taking scouting reports. They’d all heard the grumble of incoming artillery fire, but that’d been a constant the whole damn battle. Only this time, it sounded off. Different. Rex had registered the pitch, was turning to find several of his brothers were also trying to move because that wasn’t just incoming it was aimed right for the fucking building. Tano had that look that meant the Force had just alerted her to danger.

Kenobi had just Force shoved everyone in front of him out the damn windows.

That’d been the right move. A moment later, Rex tackled the General, who didn’t have nearly the amount of armor that Rex did. He wasn’t sure if it would help: he could end up as yet another solid object battering the damnfool Jedi to paste just as much as he might provide a squishable buffer that could keep Kenobi alive.

Worth the risk.

Turns out that Kenobi didn’t just flail when Rex tackled him. When the dust clears enough that Rex can make out that things are no longer falling, he can see that there’s a nice tiny cavelet that’s been formed in a way that can’t quite be natural. Like falling shit stopped falling around a particular Force bubble.

Good news: Kenobi kept the big pieces of building from smashing them.

Bad news: smaller bits of building made it through. ‘Smaller’ means anything up to the size of a large fist.

Worse news: General’s bleeding from a headwound. It’s a fuckin’ headwound; you can’t tell shit at a glance about the severity unless you can see actual brains.

His gloves are soaked by the time he can make out that no, it’s not severe. Left the General KO’d, but he’s breathing all right and a quick bactawrap tossed on looks like it should stabilize matters.

Rex can’t raise anyone on the com – either it got broken, there’s enough building in the way to interfere with the signal, or everyone’s too damn busy to answer. He’s incredibly cautious in trying to wrestle any of the debris away. On the one hand, everything seems pretty stable and unlikely to come down on their heads. On the other, there’s nothing he can do to get them out.

Rex ends up settling on the ground, pulling Kenobi across his lap because –

Well, because.

He doesn’t remove his bucket, because between the air scrubbers and the low-light HUD, they’re both better off with him wearing it. Yet he doesn’t like the crimson patches he leaves on Kenobi’s robes. Between the flashbacks to Echo and the fact that he keeps thinking Kenobi has somehow snuck an injury past him, he finally tugs his gauntlets off.

Also proves that yes, his com is definitely broken. Dammit.

He leans back, preparing for a long wait because the battle is in a lull, not a win. General is definitely out for the moment, so Rex...indulges.

He doesn’t know a single brother that doesn’t have at least a bit of what Kix calls ‘touch starvation.’ That longing to be close, to have contact that’s more than just armor. It’s not just that, though. Rex... _admires_ the General. Everything from the battle prowess to the way he can be kind and gentle with animals and younglings, to how he is so incredibly _human_ sometimes. Yes, he’s a Jedi – yet he will grieve for fallen brothers, work tirelessly with civilians to keep the peace they’ve fought for.

He is everything Rex could aspire to be as a person, and he is everything that Rex admires.

Yes, there are things about Kenobi that makes Rex want to take up drinking. Every time Cody shares details about the latest daft escapade, or that Rex sees a certain someone who has no sense of self worth –

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to grab that man, sit him down, and lecture him like the idiot shiny he happens to act like _far_ too often.

There are times, though – rare, tiny moments of indulgence, that Rex allows himself a different kind of _want_. He knows it is impossible, let alone improbable. Kenobi is a Jedi. They don’t consort with anyone, let alone clones – he imagines there must be some kind of sexual arrangement between some of them, but Skywalker is an exception, not a rule. There’s the military chain of command, and Kenobi is several rungs above Rex – directly above him, even if it’s in a convoluted way.

For that matter, Kenobi is Cody’s General. Cody is Rex’s closest brother, for all the differences in rank between them, and Rex wouldn’t want to risk getting between those two. He knows it’s professional, whatever their relationship is, but....

Rex _wants_. So he reaches out, gentle and minimalist as he brushes bloody hair back from Kenobi’s forehead.

He freezes, certain that his HUD is malfunctioning. The streak of warm orange fades even as he watches, leaving him doubting what he thinks he saw.

There’s some weird ass sensation crawling up his spine, disbelief and fascination and this breathless wonder because there’s no possible way that it could be what he thinks just happened. Rex pops his bucket off, grimacing a little at the middling quality to the air. He powers on the lights on the sides of his helmet, and in that faint illumination he mimics his earlier gesture. It’s an even lighter touch, because it has gone from a moment of weakness when Kenobi is unconscious to intentional invasion of the man’s personal space for no damn reason other than _hallucinations_.

Rex is knocked breathless as his fingers leave another path of glowing, warm light that fades quickly. This is – there’s got to be –

 _Myths_ , Force fucking damn it! There’s no such thing as soulmates, and he has to have a fucking concussion because there is no way Rex, CT-7567, could possibly have one in the form of High General Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi!

He grabs his bucket, pulling it back on and killing the lights. His HUD will do. He sits there, not quite daring to move General Kenobi off his lap, but not daring to touch him again.

They’ll be rescued soon enough.

* * *

Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure why he’s so on edge, but the Force has been odd since that mess with the falling building. That was almost a month ago, several planets and many more battlefields than that, but he’s decided enough is enough. Anakin brought Ahsoka and a small team of 501st to the _Vigilance_ , and this is the perfect opportunity for Obi-Wan to address a problem.

“Sir?”

His smile is a little fake, the slightly too polished, too easy grin that he has mastered on the Council, and during countless missions before. “Captain Rex, please come in.”

The Captain is as much the epitome of professionalism as ever, stepping into Obi-Wan’s tiny stateroom that isn’t much more than a desk, a data terminal, and room enough to pace a little. All the clones were taught shielding, along with the countless other skills they are experts in, but Obi-Wan can still sense that discordance in the Force.

That means something is very wrong, and he has only a single, horrible theory as to what it is.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

By now, he’s used to the wayward path his libido takes to that kind of statement. It doesn’t make things easier, but it’s at least predictable. “Yes. Captain, I’m afraid I have to ask what the problem is, between us.” At Rex’s incredulous look, Obi-Wan charges ahead. “For almost a month now, there’s been a startling lack to the cohesion of the command group, and I think it lies between you and I. Therefore, rather than beating around any bushes, I would just like to know what the difficulty is. I hope we can resolve any issues like two reasonable, civilized adults.”

There. That sounds quite proper, and grants Rex the proper respect as a sentient of age for his...his people – and as always, that is a bitter sting in his conscience. The clones are _men_ , humans who have been denied all sorts of rights and life choices, and moreover half their lifespan. It doesn’t make them near-human, just different, and it is never something he could ignore.

These brave, wonderful individuals deserve so much more than that. Damned if he’s going to disrespect any of them, ignore what little autonomy they might have, just because he is a weak and fallible human.

The Jedi are responsible for their army, even if it is the result of only one man. Sifo-Dyas is dead, and now the GAR is in the Jedi’s care. Obi-Wan might well have said all sorts of inappropriate things when the building came down around their heads, and he pushed himself into a mild state of psychic shock to boot because buildings are not easy things to divert.

 _Might_. He’s not sure, but there are countless sordid, inappropriate things he wishes he could say to Captain Rex, and if the concussion and shock had pushed him into declaring _any_ of them, he could not begin to imagine how that could affect the Captain.

It is the only explanation he can come up with that might fit the circumstances. Concussion or no, he would not make advances on the man, so what else it might be – Well, that would be why he asked. On the slim chance it was something else, this would be the time to find out.

Rex somehow goes more to attention than he had been before, staring off into the distance like he can see though the far wall. “Sir. There’s no difficulty, sir, and if my performance is in any way inade – ”

“Captain!” Rex’s mouth snaps shut, but he doesn’t look at Obi-Wan.

Gods dammit all. Obi-Wan leans back in his chair, trying to make himself look as innocuous as possible, to make it clear he will not make one move closer to Rex without warning or permission. “Captain Rex, I deeply apologize for any of my actions or words, but I had a hell of a concussion and I don’t _remember_ anything from the time I saw you trying to warn everyone that there was danger and waking up in medical. I have no idea what I might have said or done while you were trapped under most of a _building_ with me, but clearly there _is_ a problem! I’d like to know what the hells I did, because I can’t even apologize for it, let alone correct matters otherwise!”

Thank the Force, that _finally_ gets Captain Rex to stop that thousand meter stare. The look of faint confusion isn’t much better, but at least it’s _something_.

“Sir...,” Rex finally says, then he stops. He seems to search for words for a moment, then he meets Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I’m not sure why you seem to think the problem is anything you might have done. I know I’m...grappling with some things, but that is my problem, and I am working through it. You...sometimes have been acting strangely, but I thought it might be – Well, I’m not sure what it might be.”

Oh.

 _Fuck_. This is suddenly a whole lot worse than he thought it might be, and that’s all his own damn fault. Obi-Wan allows himself a moment of regret, closing his eyes and taking a few calming breaths. Good to know he’d behaved himself.

Not so good to know he’s talked himself right into the problem he’s spent over a year now avoiding. He makes himself meet Captain Rex’s eyes, because he deserves it. “I had thought that due to the concussion, I might have said or done something inappropriate.” In response to Rex’s raised brows and disbelieving look, he makes himself confess further. “Captain, there is a remarkable power imbalance between us. Even if there was not, there is either a literal difference of twenty years, or a relative difference of eight between us.” Nevermind that even for non-Jedi, that isn’t a huge span once one is past the age of consent. Rex is _twelve_. Even if he were the twenty-four that he looks like, it would still cause Obi-Wan some hesitation. “There is little to no way that any advances I might make would be appropriate under any circumstances.”

“Advances,” Captain Rex repeats, neutral and face just as expressionless as his voice.

Obi-Wan _could_ go into embarrassing amounts of obscene detail over the many things he would love to have happen, right here in his gods-damned _office_ , let alone his actual quarters; how a ridiculous, depraved part of himself wants to spend weeks finding the lingering Force sensation of him and Rex fucking senseless on this very desk.

He has at least a little more self-preservation than that. “Yes.”

He’s not sure what to do with the fact that Captain Rex just looks at him, with this bewildered little expression. “Sir...may I do something a little odd?”

That is not anything at all like the response he would expect. “Yes?”

Rex removes his gauntlet with several swift motions, but Obi-Wan can see a faint tremor to the man’s hands. That is worrisome on several levels. He can’t think of any rituals of offense that involve removal of hand wear – at least, none that the clones are liable to have encountered – and the Captain looks more disturbed than upset.

He is at a complete loss as Captain Rex steps around the desk, setting that armor on the side before he reaches out and oh so lightly brushes the back of his fingers against Obi-Wan’s cheek, above the beard.

There is a tiny moment where it takes everything within him to not lean into the touch, close his eyes and perhaps moan because contact is...rare.

Astonishment is swift to replace that, because there is suddenly a glow, as if Captain Rex had put some kind of phosphorescent upon Obi-Wan’s skin. That fades quickly, but Rex pulls back, expression almost _stricken_.

That is... _hard_ to focus on, because the moment he saw the glow the Force had given a little jump, a pleasant little shiver working up his spine along with something that is almost melodic.

That’s all metaphor, of course, but as lovely as that all is, he has no idea what just happened.

“Captain?”

Rex’s eyes dart up from Obi-Wan’s cheek. “You saw that?” he whispers.

“What _was_ it?”

Rex doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings his other hand up, repeating the gesture to the same cheek. It’s still a wonderful sensation, but it doesn’t have either the glow or that weird shiver in the Force. “Captain?”

Rex swallows. “Skin contact, sir.”

* * *

He can see the moment General Kenobi figures it out. The General’s eyes go wide, and it’s both a relief and a hell of a pang that Kenobi sputters, “That’s _absurd!_ ”

He agrees, after all, but –

He’s weak. He _wants_. “I didn’t expect it either, sir.”

Kenobi sighs, bringing a hand up to scrub his face. Rex doesn’t know what to make of the fact that the General seems to avoid the place where Rex had touched him.

None of it really makes a whole picture. The admission of an...interest? Does it count as interest? It sounds like it could be, but Rex doesn’t dare hope. It might be an acknowledgement that Kenobi knows how Rex feels, but for any number of reasons anything more intimate would be impossible.

The single bit of hope is that if Kenobi’s considered all that, then perhaps Rex is not the only one who wants.

The General lowers his hand, and Rex is stunned by how _tired_ Kenobi looks. For the first time in the war, Rex thinks the General looks worn. Small.

Absurd. The clones are centimeters shorter than Kenobi. Yet sitting there, looking at Rex, the Jedi is the most uncertain he has ever seen.

“Captain, the only proof any being has ever found of soulmates is anecdote. Nothing shows up in the Force, and the Archives have plenty of data about beings who volunteered to be examined. The _only_ evidence is that there are stories across planets that have never had any contact, across species that don’t have any reason to develop that kind of mythology.”

“And you think that correlation is unusual.”

“Damn near unprecedented.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

Kenobi is the one to break the silence. “Even if it weren’t just a flight of fancy, it changes nothing.”

“Why?” Oh gods, Rex can’t quite believe that managed to escape him. From the look he’s getting, neither can Kenobi.

“Really, Captain? In the first place, it’s not something anyone can _prove_. Secondly, I believe you and any of your brothers know the GAR regulations better than I do, so I’ll skip citing all the regulations that would break. Thirdly, there’s rules of the Jedi Order that prohibit Attachment. Fourth, there’s a whole bunch of galactic laws that – ”

“Sir, please.” Yes, he knows all that. He’s never listed them, coldly looked over the collection of barriers – although the galactic laws about ages is a shaky one, since under galactic law clones aren’t even considered to be people.

Not that that helps.

Still. He’s in this deep, he might as well keep going. His Jaig eyes aren’t honorary. “General. As a personal favor, might I ask something?”

He can see he’s found a chink in the General’s armor, from the hesitant doubt in his eyes. “You may ask,” Kenobi says, and it’s clear that it is _just_ a chink.

He takes the leap. “Regardless of flights of fancy or feasibility, is it something you might want?”

Kenobi’s expression shutters closed again. “It’s irrelevant, Captain – ”

“Not to me, sir! It’s _very_ relevant to me if all I represent is a set of, of obstacles and potential broken regulations or if I have any significance to you as an individual! _Is this something you want_?”

He doesn’t mean to shout, but the words echo through the room. Rex is sure his heart is just about to thud right through his ears when Kenobi sighs. “...You leave far too much wiggle room in that question.” His eyes slant away, and something between grief and shame flits across Kenobi’s face. “I find the notion of soul mates to be quaint, but of not much weight. But in regards to the actual question...” He looks pained, closing his eyes to take a bracing breath. “You are someone I want, yes.”

He didn’t quite expect Kenobi to knock the breath right out of him. It’s warmth in his gut and a thrill down his spine and he almost wants to just sit down on the desk because there’s only the one, occupied chair and his legs aren’t as certain as he’d like.

Kenobi takes advantage of the stunned silence, of course. “Please, Captain. Don’t let that affect your decisions. That is one of the last things I would want to do.”

Force help him, there are times when he wants so _badly_ to tell off self-sacrificing idiots. “It doesn’t change a thing about who I want, or what I want.”

There’s something so painful in the way Kenobi looks at him, like he doesn’t believe anyone could return the want he claims. That he’s dared to show.

“Obi-Wan.” In part, it’s the answer to the unspoken question. In part, it’s an overt act to step past that list of barriers. Rex nods towards Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Is it just me?”

There is a part of Rex that is a little bit relieved that Obi-Wan’s hands aren’t entirely steady as he removes his right gauntlet. He’s not sure at all what to think when Obi-Wan hesitates, then removes the left one as well.

Doesn’t matter. Obi-Wan stands up, taking the few steps to close the distance between them. He reaches out, hesitates, then lightly trails his fingertips across Rex’s hand.

Oh, gods, what a sensation. Rex is keenly aware of lightsaber callouses, the _warmth_ of skin against his. There’s also a tiny bit of extra sensation, not quite a tickle and not quite warmth, just a little extra something as if the sensations are being heightened just a hair. Just enough to notice.

Rex’s skin underneath Obi-Wan’s fingers lights up that same gentle orange. It’s such a warm color, somewhere between afternoon sunlight and that beautiful auburn copper that Kenobi’s hair used to be, before the war ground them all down. In the standard lighting of the cruiser, it’s a nice little glow like emergency lighting strips without it being that obnoxiously cold green-tinted white. It fades quickly, faster than the fog a bored brother can breathe onto a window, but it doesn’t leave that echo of warmth that can be so chilling.

“Gods,” he manages, knowing that it’s a more than half-strangled moan. “Didn’t know it felt like that.” Not when it’d just been fingertips, when he’d thought it was just warmth or nerves. It’s mutual, from Obi-Wan’s look – not quite unsettled, verging on hungry, with a hint of uncertainty lurking in the back of his eyes. Rex dares to reach out, curving his hand along Obi-Wan’s neck and up to cup his cheek. It’s fascinating to watch his thumb smear that light across the cheekbone, even as Obi-Wan lets out a soft moan of his own and nuzzles against Rex’s hand. It leaves behind such a strange mark, but that fades quickly enough that it’s a fascinating flicker of unusual lighting instead of the unsettling glare that Rex had imagined it might be.

He likes this far, far better.

* * *

If he were thinking that far along, Obi-Wan would blame the sensations, the wash of input and how that would muddle his notion of boundaries.

He is anything but thinking, particularly not that far along. He’s just leaning in, grateful that about halfway there Rex moves to meet him in a kiss that’s just as heady, tingling with that Force-shiver of arousal and sensation. He has no idea how long they’re at it, only that when they pull apart it has to have been ‘awhile.’

Obi-Wan blinks and lets out an undignified snicker at Rex’s face. Not the expression, which is hungry and full of emotions he doesn’t quite want to investigate right away (or any time soon, really, because it is already too much).

The holos _never_ show how the imprint of the kiss is left behind as a messy glow around the mouth, or the dots of light where their noses bumped, or the streaks across the forehead. If the holos even bother at all, it’s a case of garish lipstick that lingers through countless kisses. The glow is already fading from Rex’s face, but an echo remains in the delighted glint in his eyes.

“Lot messier than I expected,” Rex admits with a wide, lopsided grin that Obi-Wan has never seen enough.

“Indeed.” The dry understatement turns that grin into a smirk, and Rex reaches out, tangling his hands in Obi-Wan’s hair. It gives things a bit of a fuzzy background glow, with the bonus of making Obi-Wan feeling like he could just melt up against Rex and cuddle there forever.

Then Rex trails fingers down Obi-Wan’s neck, and instead of succumbing to lassitude he’s just hard. Oh dear Force, this is either the best or the worst decision he’s ever made, and he’s not sure he cares anymore which it is.

It turns out that he’s better at getting Rex out of his armor than Rex is at removing his tunics, but Rex _cheats_. By the time Obi-Wan is tugging the top half of Rex’s blacks off, the clone is leaning in and _nuzzling_ in the gap of his tunics. Obi-Wan drops Rex’s shirt and grips the edge of his desk because shouting is inadvisable, and he’s this close to making all sorts of noises he shouldn’t ought to.

Rex shakes off the clinging ends of his sleeves, then slides his hands along Obi-Wan’s chest and down his sides. That lets him finally part the tunics, and he’s pressed close to Obi-Wan.

Gods, he feels like his entire torso has to be lighting up like a lightsaber, but when he can manage a glance down he can see the trails of illumination Rex is leaving along his sides, how they’re both glowing at every point of contact.

It’s amazing, it’s overwhelming, it’s fantastic, it’s too much. Rex proves that ‘skin contact’ includes use of tongue, and that makes for a mental image that is just one step too far. Obi-Wan fumbles a hand off the desk edge, gripping Rex’s shoulder and hoping it communicates well enough. Since he stops and straightens up, yes, good, but at the same time that means they’re almost flush from chest to knees.

“Obi-Wan?”

Rex sounds worried, probably wondering if he pushed too far, too fast, something – gods, Obi-Wan doesn’t even trust his sense of the Force, not when his body is thrumming like this, his brain seemingly cued to every tactile sensation he encounters.

“Too much!” he manages to gasp, and Rex immediately backs away.

Gods, he would’ve thought that would leave him cold, feeling bereft, but it’s gentler than that. Not being over-stimulated, just feeling amazing and desperate and under other circumstances, he would be embarrassed to just put a hand down his pants. A few swift strokes and he’s coming hard enough that it doesn’t even occur to him that it could be rude, let alone uncivilized.

Soulmates. Right. Rex is braced against the wall, eyes closed, hand in his own pants and looking like it was just as much an experience for him as well.

 _That’s_ the moment that almost breaks Obi-Wan. Fascinating new tactile and visual experience? Strange, but intriguing.

The implications behind it, however, that Rex... _fits_ with him –

That’s terrifying. People who get close to him end up with very bad luck that usually results in death.

“Little much for me too,” Rex admits softly, opening his eyes and smiling at Obi-Wan. “Little slower next time?”

There’s just enough uncertainty that Obi-Wan can see it. Just enough hesitation to recognize that Rex is offering to back off if it all is too much.

It probably is.

Trying to build – what, a relationship? – a relationship is a monumentally stupid idea.

He’s weak, and all too much a fallible human – and Rex is offering. Moreover, Rex wants this. “A little slower, yes. That’d be nice.”

Rex’s smile is brilliant, and Obi-Wan is willing to indulge in a moment of whimsy that it is bright enough to light the whole room.


End file.
